


Even When You're Down

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: Batfam Week 2017 [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bonding, Brother Feels, Brotherly Bonding, Bruce is a good dad, Dick is ill, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason is a good brother, Shingles, Sibling Bonding, Sickfic, somewhere post rebirth, where is this in canon?, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 08:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Jason is expecting pizza at his door, not a very sick Dick Grayson. When he can't figure out what's wrong with his brother he turns to the only person he can, Bruce.





	Even When You're Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tumblr's Batfam week day 4: Hurt/Comfort

When Jason opened his front door he expected the pizza guy not Dick Grayson. His brother stumbled in, pale faced, hair slicked back with sweat, and mouth gaping.

"Not feeling so good." He mumbled, before falling into Jason.

He didn’t have time to even attempt at catching Dick as the other man pushed against his chest and used it as leverage to propel him onto Jason's couch where he face planted with a groan.

"Oh no." Jason said, shutting the door behind him and turning to glare at his brother, and they said he was dramatic. "You don't get to do that. Don't you dare stumble in here and get your sick all over my couch. Go to the Manor. I'm sure Alfred will be happy enough to fix you up. He probably looks forward to putting you in your place."

Dick raised his face from the cushion. "Don't want to get Damian sick. He'd hover."

"The demon brat could use to get knocked down a couple of pegs." Jason shot back. It wasn’t exactly fair since their youngest brother had been better lately, but it was a good outlet for his irritation, after all, Damian wasn't there to argue.

Dick's eyebrows narrowed in what Jason assumed was either a frown of disappointment or disapproval, instead it looked like he was about to be sick. " 's not nice Jaybird."

Jason rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah." He snagged the waste basket he kept by the door and shoved it by Dick, "If you throw up on my couch I'll kill you."

His brother smiled at him, lopsided and genuine as he took the bin, patting Jason’s arm with his other hand. "I knew you cared."

"Nope.” Jason pulled away. “I don't want to get sick by touching you. The moment you can walk again you're out."

This close Dick looked even worse. His eyes were glassy, his face sunk, and Jason thought he was shaking. He reached a hand out and pressed the back to Dick's forehead it was overly warm, and not in the just came in from the sun kind of way. He was starting to think that Dick might be worse than he’d initially assumed. Maybe he wasn’t being so dramatic after all.

"Your burning up. What's wrong with you anyway?" He frowned.

"Dunno." Dick said, rolling over so he was laying on his back, head resting on the couch's armrest. "My chest feels like it's on fire. I thought it was a patrol thing, but it's been a week. I'm all achy and it's tender."

"And?" Jason raised an eyebrow.

Dick sighed. "Fever's been here a few days, but when my stomach started hurting and I got the chills I figured I should get help somewhere. And you were closest."

"Great, so I'm nursemaid by convenience."

He was protesting, but he wasn't going to kick Dick out, not when he looked that bad. No one stumbled into his apartment, it was his space, if they wanted to see him they waited for patrol or him to show up at the manor. That was the rules, the unspoken agreement that kept the peace. Jason was on better terms with everyone these days, but that didn’t mean he wanted the smothering that came from regular close contact with his family. So, Dick coming here, and breaking that, said he was in a bad way, one even Jason couldn’t refuse.

"Not really." Dick tried.

"Yes really." Jason sighed and crossed his arms. "You look like crap. I don't guess I can kick you out either. You'll probably die and then B will blame me."

Dick grinned up at him. "Yup."

"Don't agree.” Jason pointed down at him with a scowl, “You’re sick, you don't get to do anything but rest. Wait here and I'll make up the guest bed. If the doorbell rings, call me. I don't want you germing up my pizza."

He pushed past Dick, and into his rarely used second room. He'd got the spare in case Roy or someone else dropped by unexpectedly, not that anyone ever had. Now it had been too long since he'd spoken with the redhead to even think about surprise visits, and he didn’t have a lot of other people to invite by. The room had gradually turned into a sort of junk/prep room. He kept extra guns, ammo, supplies, and uniforms in bins around. A stack of take out flyers, paperwork, and books he’d finished reading were piled onto the bed, proving just how often he used the room compared with the other, neater, parts of the apartment.

He collected the boxes, crates, and tubs to shove into the closet before cleaning off the books and papers to dump them on top. Then he got clean linens from the guest bathroom and made the bed. He took a last look around the room and pulled a trash bin by the bed and left a tissue box on the nightstand.

"All set, now let’s get your sick self into something more comfortable than—” He broke off as he caught sight of Dick, on the ground, leaned over the trashcan he’d given him earlier, dry heaving.

“Crap, Dick.” Jason covered the few steps to his brother’s side in an almost run.

Dick looked up for a moment. “It's fine, I’m—” He didn’t get the rest out before the heaves caught him. He thrust his face over the opening again, though not before Jason caught sight of what had to have been his brother’s lunch inside.

Jason grimaced, “Puking into that thing’ll only make you sicker.”

He leaned over to tug one of Dick’s arms around his shoulder to pull him to his feet. Dick kept his other hand firmly on the can, carrying it with them as Jason dragged him to the bathroom.

“At least this you can flush.” Jason told him, taking the bin from Dick, “I have to go wash this. Do _not_ die while I’m away.”

“I’ll try not to.” Dick said, giving him a grateful smile, and waving him off.

This time Jason hurried, taking the bin into the laundry room and its deep sink to spray the thing out. He scrubbed it out and left it to dry before booking it back to the bathroom. His own stomach sick with worry. He had no idea what was wrong with his brother. He’d never had chest pain that turned to a fever, chills, and vomiting. He’d say it was the flu, but something told him it wasn’t. Not when the symptoms had started with the ache. And if it wasn’t that Jason had no idea what he was dealing with.

Dick hadn’t seemed to worsen while he’d been gone, his brother was propped up against the tub, head lolling back over the edge, skin so pale it almost blended with the porcelain beneath. That more than anything worried Jason, seeing his brother’s skin so washed out, it wasn’t his color, it was too light, way too light, and all wrong. He couldn’t waste time worrying about it though, he had to keep moving and help him get better.

“First things first, let’s take your temperature. I know it’s high, the question is if it’s hospital high or not.” Jason snapped open the medicine cabinet and pulled out his thermometer.

“Here, think you can handle keeping this under your tongue for a few seconds?” He thrust the device at Dick who lifted his head to frown at it.

He opened his mouth to comment and coughed instead, hand going to his mouth to cover it. The coughs didn’t last long, letting Dick catch his breath. “I’m ok, it’s just my throat, all that throwing up did a number on it.” he said, “I’m not going to the hospital, no matter what it says.” Dick told him, reaching out for it.

He held it for a moment looking down, probably steeling himself for the act of taking his temperature, before Dick’s eyes went wide and he flung himself over to the toilet again, the thermometer clattering to the linoleum next to him.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Jason mumbled, but even that bit of sarcasm felt hollow.

He had to swallow back bile as he watched his brother’s back arch with another empty retch. He needed fluids, bad, and the ability to keep them down. Jason might manage to take a less than perfect measure of his temperature if he could get Dick to hold the thermometer under his arm, but after that he wasn’t sure what to do.

He was at a loss. A complete and total loss and his brother was probably dying in his bathroom. At one point in his life Jason wouldn’t have minded that, would have welcomed it, and ushered it on with the help of a bullet or two. But he wasn’t that Jason anymore. He hadn’t been for a while.

Alfred, Tim, Dick, Roy, and Kori. Cass, Damian, and Steph. Even Duke to some extent. And now Bizzaro and Artemis. They’d all helped. All shown him different ways to stop the hate. He had their love, and the ice had thawed. Not all the way. The hurt wasn’t gone. The wrongs not righted. He and Bruce only talked vigilante talk, and even that could be strained. But it was better. He was better. And there was no way he was going to lose any of that, especially not Dick. Not the man who’d tried so hard to bring him back. Who he’d fought with. Who he had yet to live up to. His older brother.

Jason hadn’t ever wanted an older brother. He hadn’t had the luxury of being able to dream of having one growing up, in his mind the less people to take care of the better. Still, that didn’t stop the sting he used to feel when he watched old and younger brothers together. He’d tried to get used to the idea of Dick as his big brother when he was Robin, but that was so short, and Dick so distant then that the hope had been squashed as soon as he’d had it.

But now? Now he had the makings of one. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t nothing either, and he wasn’t going to lose it to something stupid like an illness he wasn’t equipped to take care of.

“I’m calling Alfred.” Jason decided, not caring what Dick said or not.

His brother’s weak protests came, halted by more coughing and retching, as Jason stepped out. Even now Dick was trying to big brother, trying not to worry anyone more than he needed to, trying to make sure everyone else was ok at his own expense. The idiot.

Jason tugged his phone out of his pocket, the doorbell ringing at the same time. He ignored it, pizza the last thing on his mind as his fingers pulled up his saved numbers. He hit the manor’s and waited while it rang through.

“Hello?”

“Alfred, hey. I know you're busy and it's short notice but I have an emergency. How soon can you get over to my apartment with all the medical stuff you can carry?” Jason said, all his worry coming out in his voice, rushing the words together in a flood.

“Jason?” It wasn’t Alfred. The man who’d picked up the phone was Bruce and Jason couldn’t find it in him to be angry, not when he had no idea what to do, or how to do it, or anything besides the man in the bathroom.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Sick?” Bruce didn’t seem to be following their usual pattern either, his voice worried and at a pace to match Jason’s.

“Where’s Alfred?”

“Out. Now tell me what happened.” The littlest bit of impatience had entered the fear, spurning Jason to continue.

“It’s not me, it’s Dick.” Jason said, waiting a beat for the angry accusation that he’d done something, when it didn’t come he continued, “He stumbled in here burning up and complaining of pain in his chest. He’s stuck on the floor of my bathroom throwing up everything and the kitchen sink.”

 _And I need your help._ He should have said it, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t ask Bruce, the man who he could hardly look in the eye. The man he had hated. The man he loved. His father. He couldn’t ask him for help. They might be on good terms, but Jason wasn’t sure he’d earned the right to ask for help. He wasn't even sure he could  _call_   Bruce. They hadn't taken the time to talk, not since he'd promised not to kill. He'd been too busy, Bruce too. It was something they'd let slip, leaving Jason unsure exactly where he stood. 

“I’m coming.”

The phone clicked off before Jason could say anything else. Before he could give direction, or ask what Bruce was going to do. He didn’t even know how Bruce knew where his apartment was. He hadn’t bothered to tell the man when he’d moved months ago, vacating the old one because too many people knew about it. Then again, his father was Batman, he shouldn’t be surprised.

He stuck his head back into the bathroom and swore. Dick wasn’t there. How had he missed a sick man sneaking out behind him? A quick check of the small hallway told him his brother wasn’t limping his way through that either. He shouldn’t have left Dick to call, he should have stayed there with him so his stupid, idiotic, self sacrificing brother couldn’t sneak out in an attempt to ‘help’.

He wasted a second checking the guest bedroom before moving to the living room. The front door was open with a pizza box kicked halfway inside. Jason swore and shoved the box by the door before running out the front, ready to chase his brother down so he didn’t pass out in the middle of a street or end up dead in an alleyway.

Jason stumbled to a stop when he found Dick, slumped on the stairs leading down, one arm looped around the railing, his head resting in between two bars, out cold. His face washed out further than it had been when he’d stumbled in. Jason jumped down the stairs to crouch on one below Dick so he could see his face.

“Hey, hey! Wake up! Don’t go dying on me now. Enough of us have done that that it’s getting old.” He said shaking his brother by the shoulder, hand in a tight grip to make sure he didn’t fall forward.

Blue eyes fluttered open and Jason almost sighed. Almost. He would have if he wasn’t so pissed at Dick.

“You’re an idiot, you know that right?” He said pulling Dick’s arm back over his shoulder and hooking his other around the older man’s waist.

“I told you,” Dick coughed. “Didn’t want to get anyone else sick. Calling them will have everyone piling into your place.”

Jason ignored him, “An absolute frickin idiot.” He said dragging Dick back inside. “Especially if you think sneaking out to die in some gutter helps anyone.”

Dick grunted and shifted closer to Jason. “Wasn’t thinking.” He mumbled.

“More like the fever’s fried your brain.” Jason told him. “Don’t worry about Al dragging the brat, Bruce is coming over, though you’d know that if you’d waited instead of trying to pull some martyr crap.”

“Sorry.” Dick sighed.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you in bed so I can start googling sicknesses that only idiot brothers catch.” Jason pulled Dick up again, his brother cracking a weak smile.

“Don’t forget to search for ones that can be made worse by patrol and the stubborn refusal to admit I’m sick.” He said, his voice hoarse from the abuse his throat had taken.

“As if I’d forget those terms, they’re staples of this family.” Jason hoisted Dick’s arm a bit higher as they reached the guest bedroom so he could dump his brother in the bed.

Dick refused to let Jason pull the comforter up over him, claiming Bruce would only want to check him out when he got there and he was hot enough. The reminder of his brother’s increased body heat made Jason snag the thermometer off the floor of the bathroom on his way to grab a bottle of water for Dick.

While they waited for Bruce he shoved the thermometer under his brother’s armpit and cracked open the water bottle. He handed that over only when he’d warned Dick to, go easy on it or he’d be throwing up again. Then he left him long enough to tidy the bathroom and collect the pizza from the front door and stick it in the oven in the vain hope it might stay kind of warm. 

Dick’s temperature was high, but not too high, which left Jason happy he wasn’t going to be calling an ambulance, but also with nothing else to do. He paced the living room, unwilling to just stay with Dick. He had too many emotions churning, too much worry, and anger, and fear. He didn’t want to snap or make things worse. Dick was already apologizing every time he poked his head in to check on him, trying to say he’d be fine, and ‘Don’t worry Jason’ and ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be this much a bother’. He knew one false word and Dick would be trying to sneak out again. So, he paced and worried.

He jumped when the door opened and Bruce stepped in, arms loaded with bags.

“Where’s Dick?” Bruce asked, his voice and shoulders tight.

Jason led him to the guestroom and Bruce made a beeline for Dick’s side. The moment Dick caught sight of Bruce his face crumpled, a frown replacing the smile he usually wore, breath hitching.

“I’m so sorry. Bruce” he sobbed.

Jason swallowed, he’d never seen Dick like this before, never seen him just fall apart, not from being sick. Not from much really, Dick was always the one to wear a smile, to take on everyone’s worries and not buckle. He had no idea how to react to Dick this way.

“Dick--” Bruce started, but stopped as Dick barrelled on.

“I thought I'd pulled something, and the pain just kept getting worse, and I didn’t know what to do.” His words flowed together, tears starting to flow now, “And, and, and.”

“Dick, enough.” Bruce snapped.

Dick’s words trailed as he gaped at his father, the tears drying up in surprise at the anger in Bruce’s voice.

“I’m sorry.” Dick’s voice came back a whisper.

It was like he was a boy again, scolded by his father for doing the wrong thing. Jason knew the feeling, it was hard not to feel like he was 10 when faced with Bruce most days. But when he was sick? Jason hated to admit it, but there was always part of him that wanted nothing more than to go back to the manor and let Bruce and Alfred take care of him like they had when he was a kid. There was nothing more comforting than being able to put his trust in his family when he wasn’t at 100%. He knew Dick felt the same way, could tell just from looking at him, and had been made very aware from all the times Damian complained that Dick turned into ‘a child’ when he was feeling bad.

Jason watched as Bruce forced himself to relax, brushing his hair back from his forehead before he sighed, and dropped into the chair beside the bed. “I’m sorry, Chum. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m worried, and I have no idea what’s wrong besides the fact that something is wrong.”

Dick nodded, seemingly mollified by his words. And Bruce reached out to press the back of his hand to Dick’s head. He turned back to Jason, “Jay, what did you say his temperature was?”

“I didn’t. But it was 102 when I checked it.”

Bruce nodded, turning back to Dick, “List your symptoms.”

Dick gave him the same list he’d given Jason earlier, but with an emphasis on where everything hurt. “And it’s all right here,” he motioned to his chest, hand running in a line down one side, “It’s never hurt like this before, B. It’s not--” Dick’s voice caught, “It’s not a heart attack is it? I’m too young for one of those.”

Jason realized with a start that it might be one, and if it was he should have called an ambulance not Bruce. “I can call 911.” he pulled his phone out, but Bruce held up a hand.

“There’s no need, Jay. Dick, it’s not a heart attack, I promise. I don’t know what it is but we’re going to figure it out.”

The panic that had slipped into Dick’s eyes faded at his words, and Jason let himself breathe. Alfred might have been his first choice, but Bruce was as capable as the other man at taking care of his family.

Bruce had Jason take down everything Dick had told him and everything he himself had noticed. Then he started running tests with the kit he’d brought, and Jason suddenly found himself with nothing to do. Bruce was still talking to Dick, mostly to keep up a soothing rhythm for the man to listen to, but his attention was on the device in front of him. Jason hovered, looking over Bruce’s shoulder and trying to read the results on the screen. His father let him for all of five minutes before he gently asked him to stop and find something to keep himself busy with, it had been so long since Bruce had gently asked Jason to do anything that he complied and stepped back.

He looked around the small room for something to do. Dick’s coughs started again, and before Jason could move Bruce was handing his oldest the water bottle.

Jason felt the need to help, he couldn’t do nothing. He stepped out long enough to grab his own laptop. Two heads were better than one after all, and Bruce didn’t seem to be getting anywhere fast with his tests, and  so WebMD it was.

He tossed out a few suggestions of what Dick might have. Bruce rejected them almost as soon as he mentioned them, and Dick shot him glares at some of the more outrageous suggestions. Jason just shrugged and kept clicking.

“What if it’s Tietze Syndrom?” Jason asked.

“I don’t even think that’s real, Jaybird.” Dick rasped.

“It is, and you don’t have it.” Bruce said, before turning to Jason. “Why don’t you get your brother something hot to drink for his throat?”

“I know you're just trying to get me out of the room, but you have to admit,” Jason grinned, “Dick does sound like an old man, doesn’t he?”

“Not nice, I should get a pass from being teased while I’m sick.” Dick pouted.

“It’s your fault you let yourself get this bad, Old Man.” Jason said, and stood. He left his computer in his chair. “I’ve only got green tea right now, but even that should help.”

His worry had eased some with Bruce being there, and even Dick seemed to be doing better. He started some water heating up in an old electric teapot Alfred had given him and dug through his cabinets for the tea. He found his last teabag and sighed, he’d have to go to the store at some point.

He dropped the teabag into a mug and poured the hot water in. He wasn’t a fan of shopping, it meant money spent and listening to questionable music from the nineties dotted with cheesy commercials. He hated the commercials, they were either redundant or about some disease he’d never have. Then everything clicked into place, he’d heard Dick’s symptoms listed at the grocery store in one of those stupid commercials. He shut the teapot off and hurried back to Bruce and Dick, almost spilling the tea on the way.

“What if it’s shingles?”

Bruce started to shake his head, but stopped, eyebrows knitting into a frown. “Maybe.” he said, “Dick, did you have the chickenpox as a kid?”

“No,” he shook his head. “My parents were careful about that. If one person gets sick in the circus everyone gets sick. And, I didn’t have it at the manor.”

He nodded. “I thought not,” he turned to Jason, “You were my first kid to get it, remember?” he had a soft smile on his face.

Jason did remember. He’d been a bit older when he caught chickenpox and it had been miserable. The only thing that made it bearable was Bruce staying home to keep him entertained through the worst of it. He grinned back, “I almost scratched the skin off one of my arms, and you accidentally broke the tub of that nasty cream all over the floor.”

“But I thought that shingles was a rash, I don’t have a rash.” Dick frowned.

“It can present without one, and everything else fits.” Bruce turned his attention back to his device and after a moment he looked back up. “I’m running the test to be sure, but I think we’ve got it. You’ll need an antiviral and lots of rest. This can last six to eight weeks.” Bruce frowned. “I think it can be contagious to those who haven’t had chickenpox so I’d suggest staying away from Damian until you’re better.”

Dick gave Jason a pointed look. “See? There was a reason I came here and not the manor.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, convenience.”

They got Dick settled with pain medication and something to help him sleep before moving out to let him rest. Jason fell onto the couch, exhaustion sweeping over him now that he wasn’t worried Dick was going to die. Bruce came back from washing his hands and took the cushion on the other side from Jason.

“Thank you for calling me.” he said.

Jason shrugged, at a loss for words. They’d been easy when it was about Dick, but now he was starting to realize just what he’d done. Bruce Wayne was in his apartment. Sitting next to him on his couch. And they were talking. He guessed that was ok, they were on good ground after all. But it didn’t change the gulf of words between them.

Bruce turned to look at him. “Really, thank you, Jason.”

He shrugged again. “I didn’t have much of a choice. Dick’s pretty helpless on his own.”

His father laughed, “Yeah, he is.”

They were quiet for a minute before Bruce spoke again. “When you called, I thought it was you in trouble.” he paused. “You know you can always call me if you need help, right?”

“Course I do.” Jason scoffed. “If I didn’t you’d probably show up anyway, you never were good at keeping to your own business.” he grinned.

Bruce made to comment, but his stomach grumbled, loud in the quiet room. He pressed back what Jason thought was an embarrassed smiled. “I guess we missed dinner. Want to order a pizza?”

Jason chuckled, “Actually, I’ve got one in the oven.”

Bruce frowned, confused at him and Jason laughed harder.

“I’d ordered one when Dick showed up. I shoved it in the oven to keep it hot. Though I doubt it still is.”

Bruce smiled. “Cold pizza is better anyway.”

“You got that right. Hold on and I’ll grab it.” Jason said, getting up.

He glanced back at the entrance to his kitchen. Bruce was sitting on his couch. Dick was in his guest room. All of a sudden his empty apartment was full, and for once he didn’t think he minded.

 

 


End file.
